


And Look What Happened!

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gillovny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:45:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different version of the new developments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Look What Happened!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, intended for entertainment purposes only. I do not mean to offend or insult anyone. No characters, real or *based off real people*, belong to me. I am not making money off my work.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> This is my second work in this fandom.
> 
> Just my vision of the recent developments. Nothing too concrete on the setting, don't hold me to the details. 
> 
> Am I sorry? Probably not. I really doubt that any of the real persons involved care about what I think did or wish to have happened.

*****

 

 

It all started with footwear.

“Augh!” – She yowled.

This was just another one of those press conferences about the return of the X-files. The eight of them who were to go up on stage were still feeling pretty happy but already more than worn-down, seeing how this was the end of their promo streak and one of their last days together. Gillian herself could very easily tell that though each smile was still very much genuine, they were getting more and more difficult to elicit and maintain.

And now this.

Well, first of all, there was no table. They were to sit on stage of this, frankly, rather shabby and unkempt auditorium in simple plastic chairs and there was no table. She was wearing a knee-length flowy white dress and the unexpected absence of table made her slightly uncomfortable. Slightly. 

She was the only woman in the lot of them. That wasn’t too surprising perhaps, she had gotten used to that type of thing over the years, though she would have expected a few more than just the three actors to have been called up. Granted, William B. Davis was requested, but then, nobody really *believed* he would show up… He didn’t. He referenced other engagements but Gillian surmised the man had more than had his share of the fun. She almost did too, herself. So from the actors, it was just the two of them and Mitch. But Mitch was still in an excellent mood and chatty so perhaps that made up for the deficit.

They were split into fours. Chris and three others were to enter the stage from the left – she actually saw him smiling nervously at her from the dark all the way across the stage, God knows, why he still worried about these things. To enter from the right side were the two of them, Mitch and Darin. She thought Darin looked a tad weirded out by the arrangement and didn’t fail to speculate that he was an actor, too, after all. She said nothing out loud, though. She wasn’t sure how he’d take that type of a comment.

 

When they were first arranging their conference and loosely prepping their talks - as always in a hurry, as always way too close to the actual start - Gillian found herself perplexed:

“Wait, wait, who did you say is coming with me?”

“Me and Darin!” – Mitch replied in passing, but before he continued with whatever he was on at the moment, she interrupted:

“How come? I thought, there were eight of us that…”

“There are!” – Mitch drew his brows up in exasperation, - “So, from the right side, it will be me and Darin… and… the two of you!”

Darin looked at her as though she were a five-year-old, and at first, she felt about that old too, but before she could continue with ‘what do you mean, the two of me?’, David, who was incidentally standing behind her, whispered:

“There’s also me… remember?”

She felt a twitch in her stomach. Oh, right. The two of you. Somehow, that didn’t register. Or, very possibly, the two of them made up a single unit in her mind. The way she felt when she was with him lately was certainly conducive to that line of thought. 

Back to the present. She was to enter first of the four and sit next to Chris in the middle – for balance, perhaps, what with being the only woman and all, David was to sit next to her - but of course - that was neither discussed nor even mentioned, then Mitch and Darin, and when she turned around to glance at them whilst waiting for her cue, she saw them eyeing each other with almost childish determination. She smiled to herself – boys will be boys. 

The cue finally came, the announcer retreated a step and Chris nodded at her from the distance as he proceeded to lead his short line. She was about to do the same but just as she took that first step, she tripped on the very tip of her high-heeled sandal and rolled her ankle as her foot slipped out of the bottom part of her footwear, twisting, so she skinned the tops of her toes on the wooden floor. And at that same moment, David’s chest collided with her back and it probably would have sent her flying face first on the ground, had he not grabbed onto her ribs with a quiet :

“Oooph.”

She immediately turned and sunk her fingers into his forearm, using it for support as she hopped on one foot, desperately trying to repair the damage. She could hear Mitch bunch up behind them with a quiet, Skinneric: ‘What’s the problem…?’, but before she could respond, Darin pushed past all three of them, practically running onto the stage and waving to the public, awkwardly. Before Mitch could utter another ‘What’s the pro…’ David swiftly fished him out from behind his back and lightly pushed him in the direction of the stage. Mitch turned back around at them and Gillian nodded, mastering as much of a smile as she could. 

“Can you walk?”

She felt David’s breath on her neck and that alone made her knees go weak, never mind searing pain in her foot and ankle. She managed to get her sandal on but it hurt to step and she did, for a moment, think of walking in just like that, hanging on David’s arm like a trophy wife, but immediately brushed off the idea:

“Yeah, I’m fine…” – She responded in a Scullyesque way, finally letting go of him and momentarily losing balance. He steadied her by putting his hand on the small of her back and she began to walk, still feeling it there. By the time she came into view of the public, however, he had removed it. Mitch was still taking his time getting comfortable in his chair and by the looks of it, nobody noticed a thing. Her foot was red and her knuckles had turned white from digging into David’s arm, but nobody noticed anything. As always.

That little thing though, insignificant as it was, ended up disturbing the balance. The vast majority of the questions ended up directed at the producers so the left side of the stage was animated in a multi-vocal discussion whilst the three actors on the right were twiddling their thumbs. She was looking politely in the direction of their voices but she could see nothing behind Mitch who was side-eyeing Darin with the most peculiar look. At some point she furtively glanced at David and he immediately nodded at her, bunching his lips into a bow. She almost lost her cool face at that until she realised he was incidentally and very unobtrusively pointing with his chin to her foot which he certainly couldn’t see from his angle, and in fact, that was the exact word his lips were silently forming: ‘foot.’ She smiled and nodded and turned away again. ‘There goes another fan moment’ she thought to herself with anticipation, ‘The fans will tear it to shreds.’ 

It kind of excited her. The thought that the crowd would speculate, that they would replay that gif recording of him putting his lips in that bow and of her smiling and nodding… and she would make a show of it on twitter, she certainly would. Even if for no other reason than to mess with David.

 

Finally, the journalists had gotten to the actors as well and she and Mitch ended up splitting the majority of the questions, David only speaking up once in a blue moon, and then, doing it lazily, and in an almost condescending manner. 

And then, at some point, a question about the Mulder and Scully relationship that she was in the process of explaining somehow morphed into a question about her and David and she noticed Mitch shift uncomfortably in his chair and Darin almost double over to see her better – the man looked like he was going to puke – and that made her laugh out loud, a rather high-pitched and at the same time barking sound, that probably more than made up for David freezing still next to her, mid-inhalation of breath.

She had to take that question. She was nearly always the one to answer it when it was directed at both of them. She wasn’t sure, if it was because David still couldn’t make peace with what happened in the past or because he didn’t feel comfortable talking about the present. She also wasn’t certain if she did either herself, but she laughed it off once again, allowing the usual ‘good friends’ to fall from her lips. She wanted to grab his hand, but he wasn’t looking at her and in fact, he was looking like a big irritated cat ready to bolt off the stage. To make matters worse, that same reporter just couldn’t be made to shut up and with his next quiery, hinted at their twitter interactions.

“Oh, that’s just good fun!” – Gillian threw out immediately, all the while feeling her blood pressure soar, - “Some harmless banter, you know…?”

Suddenly, Mitch interrupted her with some completely unrelated social media story that nevertheless, diverted the attention from her and as her heart was still beating in her ears and the skin of her face felt like she’s been under July Texan sun all day, she once again surreptitiously glanced at David, who’d remained silent this entire time.

She could actually feel herself shiver. David looked so ashen and lifeless that she had to almost physically restrain her hand from reaching out to touch him. He sat, sullenly looking down at his hands, but he nodded lightly when he felt her look and before this could become any more awkward, straightened himself out and lifted his head, fake-smiling at the audience. She could tell, he was hearing nothing of what was being said at that time, but then, neither was she. In fact, she couldn’t even identify who was talking.

And David certainly wasn’t. He said nothing for the next twenty minutes until the conference was officially over and he practically bolted off that chair and disappeared into the curtains.

 

 

A few minutes and a few more fake smiles later, she carefully splashed cold water on her face in the toilets. Somehow, it had become sweltering hot in the building in mere hours and it was even worse in the reception room. Her ankle had swollen up to nearly twice its size and her sandal strap was digging into it even in the last clasp position. 

When they had moved into the reception room, her first priority became to find David. His demeanor at the conference surprised and worried her. Yes, she certainly knew, he could make himself quite difficult to deal with at times but this was the first time he reacted in such a peculiar manner. And the worst of it all, she couldn’t tell why. She couldn’t really tell if it was the Mulder and Scully question that upset him, or the Gillian and David question, or the subsequent tag-on about twitter. Something did. She reckoned it must have been the one about the two of them but then, she responded in the exact manner she had been for years – after all, that’s exactly what it was - and if it wasn’t what he wanted – well! she certainly wasn’t the one to blame for having ruined what could have been back then….

….And it didn’t even matter anymore, did it? They already had about half-a-century behind them…

…And even if – now – now that they both had mellowed out to the point of looking at each other with those nostalgia-filled eyes, each quietly thinking something along the lines of, ‘well, was it really so difficult back then that we couldn’t learn to live with our differences?’ – it didn’t matter because they didn’t even reside in the same country…

…And he said he wasn’t looking. She said she wasn’t pining on a bar stool either…

…Adult friendship was good…

…It worked…

…Harmless banter, what of it…

…Good for the fan service, good for the…

She nearly splattered her face into the top half of Mitch’s tie. He laughed good-naturedly, grabbing her by the shoulders:

“What’s the hurry?”

She faltered:

“Uhh…”

He wasn’t even waiting for an answer, apparently. He winked and nodded to the side:

“Darin is on a roll today.”

The man was obviously telling a joke to a group of people in the distance. Gillian winked back at Mitch:

“Front and centre!”

Mitch barked out a laughter, then offered:

“Let’s grab champagne?”

She chatted with him for the next hour, with other actors and crew coming and going at various points in their conversation. But the more at ease she felt with him, the less comfortable she felt otherwise. They drank a couple more drinks and she was beginning to feel a bit sluggish and dizzy; besides, it was by then, stuffy and boiling in the room, her feet were tired from the heels, the sandal straps had imprinted red marks into her feet and she desperately wanted to reapply deodorant. And just as she excused herself to quietly slip into the toilets to do just that, she noticed David.

He was by the table set up by the sponsors. She couldn’t tell quite what he was doing but she ran towards him before she could stop and think better of it.

He turned to her before she called his name and before she actually caught her breath from running.

“Hey” – He said. 

He often did that and she both loved and hated him for it. She thought it could have been because he could recognise the sounds of her steps when she walked or her perfume but in a huge room and on day like this, he certainly could neither hear not smell anything - or rather - he had to be hearing and smelling it all at once because the reception ball room was a madhouse. So, she didn’t really know what it was, but then, that was not the time to ponder it. She said:

“Can I…”

He knew exactly what she wanted, he nodded at one of the men at the table and stepped away a bit to give them some room. She faltered:

“Are… are you okay?”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly:

“Yeah, why?”

She shifted uncomfortably:

“No, just at the… I felt like… Did I say something… that… you didn’t like?”

He looked at her but his face was unreadable. He said:

“No… Not at all… why?”

“No, just because, with the… when the…”

“Ah, it’s all the same questions over and over again… You wonder when they would just get it…”

“Yeah” – She surreptitiously exhaled, though something inside her did not relax, - “These ridiculous insinuations, all that stuff is really none of their business…”

“Insinuations?”

Something was tense in his eyes. She said:

“Yeah, I mean twitter… I mean when that man insinuated that we…”

He interrupted:

“Did *he* insinuate that?”

She halted:

“What?”

He said:

“I can’t blame the guy, he’s only going off of what he’s seen, but if we’re to talk about insinuations, then I would have to say that…”

He looked at her and the emerald abyss of his eyes made her heart squeeze into a drop of black oil. He just looked at her for a long time. Then, suddenly, something broke inside him:

“Why are you doing this, Gillian? I mean, you know exactly what you are doing!”

She stared at him in a stupor, having forgotten to breathe. Then, she choked out:

“What?”

“That on twitter and all that! I mean, you sit across the ocean, for God’s sake, and you send me all these messages… and… you post these things all over my page, and what am I supposed to do?!”

She just continued to stare. He sighed out in exasperation:

“It’s like… Can you imagine there’s this film that’s coming out and you’ve been dying to watch it but you’ve missed the time to pre-order the tickets and now you know you’ve got no chance to get in…” – He scrutinised her face and then attempted again, - “Or like a shoe store. Imagine you go to a shoe store, this… this… place that you’ve always passed only looking through the vitrine but there’s always been this pair of shoes that you’ve always wanted, but maybe you couldn’t because… well, it doesn’t matter but then, finally… I don’t know… they have a sale or something… or maybe you just decided – fuck it – you know, forget the cost, forget what people think, forget everything… - and you go there, but they don’t have them in your size! Not even close. Not even in the back. Not even to order. Do you understand me? You can still look at the ones in the window, but you can’t have them. You just can’t have them at all!”

The words registered in her consciousness, but barely, as though she recorded them without having an actual listen. He eyed her for a few more moments, then said:

“Just… don’t do it, Gillian. Don’t do it anymore… alright?”

And then he moved and she thought he was going to grab her arm or at least touch her lightly, or something – but he didn’t. He carefully squeezed by – and was gone. 

She stood there silently. The sponsor people attempted to get her attention but she ghosted them, stepping away.

 

Shoes. He said something about shoes. She looked at her own feet and felt nauseous. Her feet were red with veins popping up and the toes were protruding through the sandal openings way past the sole line. The sandals were a gorgeous, delicate piece of footwear, but they were awfully uncomfortable. And if she were honest, she chose them over flats this morning for one reason and one reason only – to look taller. Sometimes she hated how short she looked, especially in pictures. Especially in pictures with men. Men who were much taller. Men like David. 

Oh yeah. Let’s be honest. She’s always worn them to hide their height difference in pictures. She’s done that for years. First, because she was told to, then, because she began thinking she needed to. The mere existence of the gillybox was proof of her dire dependence on heels. Even though David would ask her over and over:

“Why do you torture yourself like that?”

She’d throw, semi-off-handedly:

“Just for the photoshoot.”

“You look perfectly fine without them. Look, if I just do this…” 

And with that he would wrap his arms around her and try to put his chin to rest on top of her head. Her heart would do a somersault for a moment and it would take all her willpower to pull away. David and his stupid games. He always knew exactly what he was doing. 

That’s why she’d always wear heels. Around him, always.

And look what happened! Look, how the tables have turned!

In her alcohol-tinted mind, exhausted from the long day and the thick heavy air of the reception room, her thoughts were jumbling. 

Look who was accusing whom of playing games! She may not have caught onto his analogy right away but she felt *what* he was saying with her heart because their souls were connected. Always. They knew when they loved each other and they knew when they hurt each other, maybe not how or why, but they knew. And she knew it now, too. She knew how he was feeling now. She wanted to gloat in it, really, and say that he deserved it after what he did to her all those years back but she couldn’t. She wanted to, but couldn’t. No matter what he did now or in the past.

And as to what he actually meant, well, what of it, really? That was clear as day even before that, and in fact, she thought, if any two other people were similarly hostage to a thing so enormous and powerful as theirs, what would they resort to in their weakness and stubborn resilience? And if all you have control of are your actions, then your actions it will be that you will control but it would never mean that this feeling, this entity, this “thing” – which she had recognised right away but which David acknowledged much later – and which had consumed them so entirely and so irrevocably – would ever simply release its iron hold. 

And what was he saying now then, he, the man who’s already lived half his life, what realisations has he come to? And what does he make of his life now? The two of them? His career? Why would he go back to doing the X-files after he so desperately tried to get away from the show – and from her? No… she could’ve told it to him then and she could confidently tell it to him now, the public never wanted him. It never wanted her, either. It wanted *them*. The two of them. The two of them and their thing. The thing that they’ve carried through all their lives, sometimes like a banner, sometimes like a cross. But the public wanted it, it was waiting with its collective mouth open to eat their love alive. And she’d let them. She’d let them do it again and again, because there was so much of it to go around, that even if she shared it with half of the world it could never so much as diminish.

But if in the odd chance he thought that she was mocking it…

Or in the odder still chance this was how he chose to tell her he was willing to give in…

Suddenly, she felt so sick, she felt herself sliding down the wall. The room was spinning. Luckily, she managed to yank a nearby chair and she almost collapsed into it, breathing heavily. She bowed her head and breathed in deeply a few times. And then, looked again at her shoes. And then, she knew exactly what she wanted.

She yanked on the straps of her sandals so violently that one of the straps broke as she pulled her footwear off, liberating her tortured, hurting feet. She wiggled her toes, trying to shake off the feeling of constriction. Then, she shoved her sandals underneath the chair and got up.

 

 

She found him with his back towards her in a crowd of people. There was Mitch, there was Darin, a couple more that she didn’t know, but Mitch noticed her right away and that was when David turned. His face became serious when their eyes connected but then it took on an amused, surprised expression as he gave her a benign once over, his look stopping at her bare feet:

“What happened?”

She tried to speak but couldn’t and only produced a choked up, broken sound. His eyes returned to hers. He was no longer smiling. He moved away from the crowd and asked:

“Where are you shoes?”

She answered:

“They didn’t fit me and… I couldn’t take it anymore.” – She paused, then added, - “Besides, somebody recently reminded me that there’s just the pair of shoes that I want…. The one I’ve had my eyes on for a long time… for as long as I can remember, and so I thought… what the heck, you know? Also…” – She burrowed into his eyes with hers, - “I think that this store will have something that will fit you, too…”

He narrowed his eyes. There was a sweet, gentle playfulness in them:

“You think?”

“No” – She said seriously. Then added, - “I’m sure.”

A beat passed before his lips fully stretched into a smile, a beat that almost gave her a heart attack for all its tension, but the smile that came after it was probably the most genuine, most vulnerable, most brilliant smile that he ever gave anyone, in character or otherwise. He moved towards her:

“Well then… maybe we should hit that store together?”

She turned into him, wrapping her tiny body into his arm, her bare feet on the floor, fitting perfectly and comfortably into him, like a latch clicking in place. They walked easily, naturally falling in step as they maneuvered around people like a sophisticated two-part machine. She smiled, feeling the butterflies in her stomach all over again as she looked up at him from the crook of his embrace.

She said:

“Yes.”

She said:

“We definitely should.”

 

 

*****


End file.
